


Impact

by Corvid_Knight, NKMLN



Series: Earth C Shenanigans [12]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Collab, Earth C (Homestuck), F/M, Post canon, Rebirth AU, my tumblr is knight-of-heart-and-art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-10 03:58:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NKMLN/pseuds/NKMLN
Summary: The Signless wakes up on Earth C.another collaboration withninja-kitty-more-like-no! She wrote, I edited!





	1. Chapter 1

You open your eyes—and immediately close them again.

_The sun. I'm dead, the worst possible way to fuck up and die, why the_ hell _didn't I just...kill myself properly, when I...had the..._

Wait. 

It doesn’t hurt.

It doesn’t…alright, what? Where are you? 

You open your eyes a crack and peer around, slowly getting to your feet. "Where" can only be half-answered just now, because there is no way that you're on the planet you should be on. The sun's too cool, the sky almost the color of Mindfang's blood. Shades lighter, you think. 

(You don't have anything to compare the sky to. The blotch of her blood that should be on your sleeve from sweeps back...isn't there.) 

Looking at your immediate surroundings just tells you that you're on a hill (dangerously exposed). But there's a hive at the bottom of said hill. Shelter, maybe, at least if whoever's there doesn't recognize you as...

As who? 

The sound that comes out of your throat is frustrated and feline, and you bury your face in your hands. Your _clean_ hands. Why is there not blood on your hands? 

Forget the lack of blood for a moment. What was your _name_?

It's _his_ name that comes to mind first, of course. Signless. It makes sense; he means more to you than you could ever mean to yourself. He's your life—that's why the title you chose, your name, was _Disciple._

_Was._

You wince in sudden remembered pain, both hands moving down from your face to your chest. 

That doesn't hurt, which is wrong. Your palms are still unmarked with olive when you cautiously take them away again, which is...

Wrong. _Wrong._

Memories hit you like a subjugglator's club. 

_His. The Signless's Disciple, and perhaps giving everything you are to a mutant was a bad decision, but it's the best one you could ever make. At least it was until they took him away, clamped the shackles down around his wrists and let his abominable_ (beautiful, everything about him is—was—beautiful) _blood out to shame him and his followers even as he died._

_Not that you saw that. You lost your last chance to see the troll who was your universe alive, because he told you that you had to save his work, everything he'd said, keep it for the others, preserve it,_ run—

_So you didn't see him die, but you know he's gone. His body, you saw. And someone—the memory of who it was won't surface—dragged you away from the body before anyone could see that he was mourned._

_You were meant to stay alive. He wanted you to stay alive._

_But—_

The memory of something lancing into your chest from behind makes you hiss and shake your head even more violently, driving the too-close memories away for the moment. Even if you can't face the rest of that memory, you instinctively know what came next. It's not even that surprising—you're known for what you are, the Sufferer's Disciple, and of course the Empress would have a price on your head. 

On the other hand, you're here, standing on a hill covered in worrisomely green grass, under a sky that's a weird shade of blue. None of which are things you expect from the afterlife. 

Also, you currently don't _feel_ dead. 

All right. Time to examine the hive you can see at the bottom of the hill.

* * *

The hive is still and seems deserted. Unsurprising—it's the middle of the day, after all. Even if the sun doesn't burn your skin, it's a weird time to be up and about. 

...it occurs to you that maybe the reason the sun hasn't killed you yet is because you're, well. 

Dead. 

Hm. 

The door to the hive isn't locked, so you push it open and slip inside. "Hello?" Speaking is a bit of a experiment, both to see if anyone answers and to see if you're capable of producing sound. (The result is an "unknown" on the first and a definite "yes" on the second. You decide to repeat the experiment, except a bit louder.) "Hello...?" 

"Hello—yeah, give me a moment, please—" 

What. 

_What._

That voice is coming from outside, unless you're imagining it. 

The idea that you're imagining it isn't exactly out of the realms of possibility—haven't you thought you've heard him a thousand times, since Summoner— _that's_ who it was, now you remember—since Summoner dragged you away from his corpse? Haven't you wanted to hear him one more time so badly that you imagined you did? 

You step back out of the hive and wince against the sun's brightness. Damn, where is he?

"Hello?" you call, hoping there's no enemies nearby. And , even though you hope you know the answer, "Who's there? Who are you?"

"Um." You understand that hesitation, but the gasp that follows it as he remembers is painfully familiar. "I—my— _oh._ " He's never lost for words, and that almost makes you pause as you stalk the sound of his voice around the side of the house. "Oh, _fuck—_ I'm sorry. Signless. My name is Signless...and you are?" 

You're laughing and crying at the same time as you take the last step that moves you to where you can see him. There's the olive blur of tears obscuring your vision, but you see _him,_ standing there in the small shade the hive provides and staring down at his hands. He's wearing the clothes you're used to him in, black and red with his hood thrown back and his nubby horns barely poking past the disaster that is his wavy hair. 

He hasn't seen you yet, but when you make some sort of incoherent sound he looks up, bright red eyes first narrowing warily and then widening in surprise. 

" _Meulin,_ " he whispers. He's the only one who still calls you that name, and from his lips it's the most welcome sound in the universe. 

You can barely see for the tears in your eyes, but you know he's gone completely still, waiting for a confirmation or denial. 

And you give him what he wants. 

You nod, and he stumbles forward like he can't remember how his feet work, and you lunge towards him like you're hunting again and he's your prey. 

So you're both moving, when you meet, and you're both full-grown trolls, and the collision is a messy crash of need and force and pain that ends with your speed overcoming his and slamming him flat on the ground. He's already got his hands tangled in your hair, pulling you into a kiss, his skin hotter than the sun where he touches you, and if you didn't have to pull back for air you'd never let him go. 

_If this is what death is, I'm sorry I didn't give up earlier,_ you think, as you choke on laughter and tears. He has a deathgrip on you, cradling you close and making soft concerned chirps as he tries to wipe your face clean even as the two of you roll a little further down the hill. 

You should probably worry about the fact that you're rolling down the hill. 

You're really not going to do that just now. There's better things to think about. 

"Kankri," you sob, and because you need to let him hear his name, the name that only you still use, "Kankri, Kankri, _Kankri..._ " 

"Right here." His hand winds through your hair, barely brushes the base of one of your horns, and you're hit with another memory— _he screamed as he died, they tortured him to force him to scream, tried to draw you out, and you—_

Signless pulls you down and kisses you again, and you blink and hold him tighter. 

"What happened?" he asks, and as soon as he asks his eyes go unfocused, disjointed words spilling out of him. "I—we were—captured? Captured. They took us. I—" He flinches, closes his eyes for a second before opening them again and staring at you. "I _died._ I died. And you—"

You shake your head. "I ran." _Cowardice,_ you think, but you have to tell him. "Psii—'Rosa—I don't know what happened to them, I—I ran—Kankri, I'm—" 

He's crying now. You're almost certain of that. 

"I'm sorry," you tell him again, and kiss his forehead. 

He pushes you back. "Don't you _dare._ Don't. Not now." Those candy-red eyes are full of love and fear worn so long that he's used to it. You can see your own reflected in them. "Don't apologize, don't you dare, just—" 

_Just._ You kiss him again, your chest actually aching with something that isn't pain. It makes it hard to breathe and you don't care, because you have him. 

You have him, and you don't know where you are, how you got here, anything. You have him, and if Her Imperial Condescension descended from the sky right now, you'd tear her apart with ease, breathless and tearful though you are. 

He's kissing you back and trying to talk at the same time, and you let him ease off just enough to whisper against your lips. 

"I'm yours," he whispers. 

"And I am yours," you echo back, just as quietly. 

You're lying in the open, in the daytime, on an unknown planet, but neither of you make any attempt to move for quite some time, just lie there clutching at each other, crying and trying to breathe each other in around the sobs and the tears. It's probably not the wise thing to do, but you don't care. 

You don't care. You have your Signless, and for now you know that's all you need.


	2. Chapter 2

Karkat makes a whining sound in his sleep, and you automatically roll towards him and curl up against his chest, butting your head up under his chin without opening your eyes. You're barely awake yourself; this is an action that's all but hard-wired into you at this point, a way to head off some of his nightmares before they really get started. 

So you get settled as close to him as you can get and relax there, which is good because it means you're pretty fucking limp and it hurts less when he makes a noise like a scalded cat and shoves you right the fuck off the bed. 

"Holy _shit—_ " 

"Dave? Oh, fuck—" As you pick yourself up, Karkat rolls off the bed with a _thump_ that shakes the floor—he misjudged the distance or something, that probably hurt. Doesn't keep him from grabbing your shoulders and anxiously examining you, though. "Fuck, Dave, did I hurt you?" 

" 'm not bleeding, babe, don't worry." You grin at him and try to blink the sleep out of your eyes. Doesn't really work. "Dream?" 

"Uh...no." He hesitates before he says anything else, eyes unfocusing. The ring of candy-red around his pupils goes darker, suddenly, not the color of his blood but of _Blood_ , his aspect, and you almost see tiny red butterfly wings flicker into existence behind him. 

You _definitely_ see the colors in his eyes pulse, and feel that same pulse through his contact with you. It's amazingly comforting—Karkat's pulse is another thing that's part of your consciousness now, the knowledge of exactly how many nanoseconds there are between each beat of his heart engraved on the deepest parts of your brain. 

However, you don't usually feel it like this. Must be a new thing since he godtiered; after all, it's been less than a year. Makes sense that new shit's still showing up. 

"Karkat?" you ask gently, after a few seconds of him not showing any signs of snapping out of whatever Blood trance he's fallen into. "Yo, Karkles. Hey. C'mon back to me." 

Patting his cheek does it; as soon as you touch him he inhales sharply, eyes refocusing on you. "...oh." 

"What kinda 'oh,' babe?" You grin at him, pushing playfully at his chest even though that barely makes him move at all. "I need more to go on here, y'know. Like, some verification that you're okay would be nice. Make sure those shiny new powers didn't fry your brain yet." 

"Shush, you dumbass." Karkat rolls his eyes and pulls you into his arms, grinning despite his obvious attempt to cover it up. You're proud of that grin. Learning how to draw it out properly was a long and scientific undertaking. "I'm fine...somebody just woke up, I think." 

"Like one of the reborn?" You squirm around so you can see his face and raise an eyebrow at that. People from the dreambubbles, from the two universes that were destroyed in the process leading to Earth C's birth—that were destroyed in, by the game—they show up all the time; that's normal. Karkat sensing it is also kind of normal, since even before he godtiered he'd know when someone woke up. Him going into some kind of Blood trance over it isn't really normal. Lil' worrisome. "Got any idea who it is?" 

Karkat just shrugs. "Somebody important? How the hell should I know?" 

"Important, like we should maybe get the fuck up and go play welcoming committee?" 

"...probably." 

And as he gives you a quick kiss and disentangles himself, you wonder if he knows that there's still a big, sweet smile on his face.

* * *

The Disciple finally lets you up, mostly because she says your face is starting to go red and that might not be the safest thing. If she wasn't correct about that, you'd probably argue for the both of you staying there in each other's arms, but there is no way that you're going to put her and yourself in danger over your blood color again. Not when you're been given a second chance. 

After some thought, you both decide to examine the (possibly-empty) hive. Upon further examination, it really is empty. Not even the signs of the previous occupant's demise, which is what you half expected. After all, why would anyone leave a place like this untended? 

"Her Imperial Condescencion might've taken them at a gathering," Meulin points out, perching on the arm of the couch. There's leaves in her long hair; you sit beside her and start carefully finger-combing them out. "Maybe even at a rally in protest of your murder." 

You have to laugh, even though the memory of burning pain that rises at her mention of your death _hurts._ "We're not on Alternia." 

"So?" 

"I was—I am—" Hm. Interesting side effect of dying; you're not sure what tense to refer to yourself in— "—one person. On one planet, in all of Her empire. I somehow doubt my efforts reached this far." 

Disciple makes a sound that's equal parts unhappy growl at your point and purr from the attention you're giving her hair, and slides down to drape herself across your lap, twisting to press her lips against yours again. "Stop it." 

"Stop what?" You're fairly certain that the answer won't be _kissing me,_ since she doesn't show any kind of resistance when you do that again. 

Her actual answer does take you by surprise, though. "Stop doubting yourself, Kankri. You didn't do it when you were alive the first time; you're not allowed to do it now." 

"Meulin, we don't even know when 'now' is. And you should take into account that all I accomplished the first time I was alive was to get people killed. To—" You nearly choke on the words. "To get _you_ killed." 

"Shush!" The pap she delivers to your forehead is almost aggressive, and the way her olive eyes flash at you suggests that she'll remove the adjective from that description if you choose to argue. "You didn't." 

"Dis—" 

"Shush!" 

"Meulin—" 

" _Shush_!" Before you can carry on not shushing, she seizes your hood with both hands, using it to draw you down into another kiss and effectively silencing you with it.

Clever one—she knows you'll not pull away from her. 

But she does pull away, after a moment. Just a little, enough to murmur against your lips, "Do you think I wanted to live without you?" 

"I—" 

"You're _mine,_ Kankri. My Signless, my Sufferer. I can't speak for the others, but you didn't get me killed. I followed you willingly. I would have followed you into a black hole." 

"I wish I hadn't led you into one," you whisper back to her, and lean your forehead against hers as red clouds your vision. Tears, this time, rather than blood. 

There probably wouldn't have been a limit to how long you two would've sat there, if you hadn't heard the voices at the door.

* * *

"Babe, I love you, but this is someone's house." 

"Your point?" Karkat doesn't even look at you, just keeps staring at the house. It's actually not a house, you guess; since it's obviously Alternian design, you should be calling it a hive. 

"Someone who probably isn't home." 

"Nope. He's here, Dave." Okay, now he glances at you. Just long enough for you to see that he's still grinning. You're not really sure when the last time Karkat smiled for this long without you actively trying to keep him doing it was. Possibly never. It was kind of a walk out here, after all. 

"Okay, who's 'he'?" Reasonable question, you think. 

It still makes Karkat blink and frown in confusion. Only for a second, though. Then the smile's back. "I don't know?" 

"You don't know," you repeat. Then you sigh, and grin at him, and shake your head, and step past him to knock at the door. "Alright, man. Let's find out."

* * *

The two of you have time to step towards the door and consider it for a moment. Dis looks over at you, eyes wide. 

"You should go," she murmurs, voice just above a whisper. Harder to hear than a whisper. "Unless whoever owns this place is a complete idiot, there's a backdoor somewhere—" 

"Oh, and you'll stay here and give me time to get clear?" you hiss back at her, baring your teeth for just a moment. _Stupid,_ that she'd even suggest such a thing! "Do you even have _weapons_?" 

" _I_ am a Lejion, I can hold my own without—" 

The door opens before you can continue the argument, and both you and the Disciple immediately try to shield each other. This results in the two of you standing much closer together, providing no cover and one target instead of two. 

_Damn._

However, the troll who opened the door seems less ready to attack than you expected. He's young, obviously, past his first adult molt but not far, and dressed in grey and black. The fact that he's obviously concealing his blood color is not really reassuring. Neither is the symbol on his loose sweater—a symbol that's as familiar to you as anything can be; after all, you claimed it for your own when your world didn't see fit to give you a sign. 

It's also the sign Her Imperial Condescension used as an instrument of your death. This boy could be wearing it as a mockery of you—she's been known to twist her enemies' symbols and make them her own, after all. 

The troll stops dead in the doorway, eyes going very wide as he stares at you. The Disciple snarls at him, and you grab her arm to hold her back—you doubt that the new troll and the smaller alien behind him are unarmed. 

"Holy _shit,_ " the alien says, stretching up to peer over the troll's shoulder. 

"Great to see you're not struck speechless by this, Dave," the troll mutters, rolling his eyes and taking a step back. "Signless." 

Well. He recognizes you. No use to try to pass for someone else, then. "I am." 

"I'm going to take out a weapon. I'm going to do one thing with it, and then I'm going to drop it on the ground. I'd _really_ like to not die as a result of that." 

"Erm," you say, because you have no idea what this guy wants. 

He seems to take that to mean "okay, go right ahead," though, because he nods and draws a weapon from his specibus. And it's a _familiar_ weapon, too—a sickle almost like your own, well-cared-for and probably one of a pair and _obviously_ sharp, because what he chooses to do with it flip it around and close his hand around the sharp side rather than the handle—

A startled chirr comes out of your throat and the Disciple's, at precisely the same time. 

The blood on the curved blade is bright, familiar red. 

" _You,_ " the currently-bleeding troll says, calmly if not quietly, "are the fucking Signless. My ancestor. My name's Karkat Vantas—" 

Dis cuts off the rest of whatever he's about to say by yowling in excitement and grabbing Karkat's uninjured hand, pulling him inside. 

"Dis, maybe you should—" 

She cuts you off too, by leaning in to press her face into his messy hair and sniff. After just a second she laughs, looking back up at you. "He really is yours—I don't know how the _hell_ you managed to contribute enough genetic material to end up with a descendant, but just _look_ at him!" 

"I am." He _does_ look like you. You are not sure how to feel about this, but you think that you're really fucking happy about it. "Hello, Karkat." 

The alien, who has no horns and unnerves you just a bit as a result, stifles a laugh and steps into the hive as well, pushing the sunglasses he's wearing up on top of his hair and grinning at you. "Congrats," he says. 

"I'm sorry?" You're not sure what you've done to merit that. 

"I mean, not everybody can shut 'kat up." He pats your descendant's shoulder, laughs again at the mock-growl he receives for it, and turns his attention back to you. "My name's Dave Strider, and on behalf of my boyfriend and the rest of the Players, welcome to Earth C. I think we got some people who're gonna want to see you later, dude." 

You're not entirely sure what that last sentence means, but from the grin on both Dave and Karkat's faces, you're willing to believe that it's a good thing.


	3. Chapter 3

"You need to underthtand," the skinny goldblood (who you keep having to remind yourself is _not_ Psii) says, typing onto the keyboard on his lap without taking his dichotic eyes off you, "he wath a helmthman for a fuck of a long time. Like, _theadweller_ lifetimeth." 

"Yes. The Dolorosa told me." You nod, glancing at the odd platform in the corner of the room. You've been reliably informed that the proper name for the things is _transportalizers;_ you don't get why they're not just called teleporters. Then again, from what you understand, they were named by children. 

The reason that you're here is because this goldblood is the Psiionic's descendant. Psii is possibly the only member of the old revolution that you haven't seen yet—you've spoken with Dolorosa (and had to have Dave explain why he called her your mother, and been confused as to what the hell a mother was before admitting that yes, she did fill that job), Redglare (under slight duress, although that meeting went well), Summoner (and been surprised at his reaction to seeing you), and most of the others. 

But not Psii. 

You should have tried to see him before this, and for that you're angry with yourself, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't know why you haven't sought him out. Like Sollux said, Psii was Her Imperial Condescension's creature for longer than you can really conceive of, and the Batterwitch (which is what your descendant and his friends call her; you rather like it, and the scornful connotation it carries) is nothing if not persuasive. 

It's entirely possible your old friend is more of an enemy, by now. 

But from your point of view, he has been and will always be your friend. So here you are in his descendant's hive, because he's the only one who has a functioning transportalizer that connects to the Psiionic's hive, listening to what sounds a good deal like an attempt to talk you out of your effort to see him. 

Hm. 

"Sollux?" 

The goldblood twitches, jerking guiltily as he returns his attention to you. "Damn, thorry. Zoned out." 

"Are you going to allow me to visit the Psiionic, or not?" Even if he says no, you intend to get to Psii somehow. Perhaps one of the sprites can arrange it. They seem to be able to arrange quite a lot of things, honestly. 

But instead of answering yes or no, Sollux hisses out a heavy breath and shrugs, leaning back in his chair until you wonder if he's using psionics to keep himself from overbalancing. "Tho you're here for permithion?" 

You suppose you might as well be honest. "Not really." 

"Oh good, becauthe I don't feel like acting like I'm in control right now, honethtly." Sollux winks at you— _fuck,_ but that was such a Psii moment!—and leans forward again, crossing his arms. "You need to underthtand that he wath a helmthman, though—" 

"You've _said_ that—" 

"— _and_ how much _not_ being a helmthman fuckth him up." Sollux raises one hand, cutting your impatience off with surprising ease. "Thionics with our power level, we're intrinthically a little fucked up in the head, right? I handle my thit pretty fucking well, mothtly becauthe I have at leatht three people on my ath if I don't take my medth and keep thit under control, but then again _I_ wathn't plugged into a thip for a couple thouthand fucking thweepth. He had perfect fucking athithted biofeedback and every drug that'd mitigate the mood thwingth and halluthinationth and thit, for fucking _ever_ , get it?" 

Sollux's eyes spark red and blue, and you're uncomfortably reminded that even though he's holding himself under a control as refined as any you've ever seen, he's still a goldblood psionic. Infinitely dangerous, if you make him mad enough. 

Can you back up any farther, or will that be dangerously rude? 

Damn. You really can't. "I...suppose so?" 

That earns you a snort, as the goldblood looks back down at his computer. "You _really_ don't." 

"I really don't," you agree. 

"Nope. Right now he'th on a hella downthwing; you can go on and try to thee if he'll talk to you, but he barely talkth to me and MT when he'th thith low." Sollux shrugs again, hitting a rapid series of keystrokes that have a visible effect, namely that of making the transportalizer crackle as he transfers power into it. "Jutht, like, don't get yourthelf killed. FF would be pithed at me if I had to call her in and get her to do her Lifey thit again." 

"I'll make an attempt not to die again," you agree. Then you step up onto the platform, very careful not to bite either your tongue or your lip as you do so. You already learned the consequences of that; Dolorosa's descendant was enthralled by your bleeding mouth when you managed to bite through your lip, the first time you used one of these devices. 

Sollux mutters something indecipherable as you disappear from his hive. You hope it wasn't important.

* * *

There are absolutely no lights on in the room where the transportalizer sends you, which throws you for a moment. Sollux wouldn't miscalibrate it, would he? 

No, of course not. And as your eyes adjust, you see that you're where you're supposed to be; someone else's hive. A rather messy hive, actually—there's smashed and shattered belongings everywhere, like the place was searched by suspicious highbloods. 

Or like a psionic had an episode in here. 

That one's more likely, you think. 

Anyway. You're going to go with the assumption that you're in the right place; the transportalizer's dropped you in what seems to be the main room of a hive. You consider for a moment, thinking about the layout of Psii's hive back on Alternia, then turn to what you hope will be the correct door. 

Well, there's a door where you think there should be one, anyway. The shards of glass embedded in it give you pause for another moment, but in the end you shake your head and push the door open anyway. "Psii?" 

Either it's slightly less dark in here, or your eyes have adjusted even further. You can clearly see this room—it has a human-style bed, currently unoccupied and stripped of its blankets and coverings, which have been used to create a pile on the floor, along with what seems to be clothes and wherever else was within reach of the occupant's powers. 

It's the occupant of the pile that you're interested in. He's what makes your breath catch in your chest, sends your mind back who knows how long, into a memory of Alternia. Not of the last time you saw him—no, you don't particularly want to remember that—but of some day when you weren't trying to change the world, just being a normal fucking person with the wrong color of blood. Some day that you barely remember, when he just wanted to sleep through the day and 'Rosa insisted he get up. 

And you do pretty much what you did then: you sit down on the edge of the pile, say his name again, and put a hand on his shoulder. 

Surprisingly, all Psii does is to groan and press his face deeper into the layers of fabric he's curled up in, completely refusing to even look at you. 

_Damn._

"Psii, you could at least say hello. It's been a while, after all." 

That just gets you garbled mutterings; all you can pick out of it is _fuck off_ and what sounds like him reciting some kind of mathematic formula. 

"You're sure you want me to fuck off, right now." Fuck but you hope he isn't. The idea of just getting up and leaving him here _hurts._ "You do remember me, right? Signless? I—" 

That's as far as Psii lets you get; when you say your name he snarls like he's been hurt, body jerking as lightning gathers around his horns. That's really all the warning you get before he looks up, eyes blazing as his psionics lance out and shove you away. 

Okay, you really weren't expecting that. As a result, you end up flat on your back on the floor, scrambling to get yourself upright again before he can hit you harder. Not that that effort's going to be successful, of course—you're quite aware of how hellishly _fast_ Psii is, unless he's lost his edge over the sweeps that you've been dead and he's been a helmsman. Odds are that you're about to be dead. 

Again. 

But surprisingly, he doesn't rip you in half or anything like that. Instead, when you collect yourself and look back up at him, your old friend is just sitting in his pile, staring at you with what you're going to interpret as extreme bewilderment. 

Lightning's still dancing around his horns, though. You can feel the energy of it even from your spot on the floor, four feet away from him; you're willing to bet that your hair's standing straight up at this point. 

"Can you maybe not kill me?" you request, frowning up at him. 

Instead of answering your concern, he just blinks slowly, shaking his head hard enough that you kind of worry about him giving himself whiplash. "Holy fucking _shit_." 

"What?" Wait, no, you _know_ what. "Psii, is it really such a shock that I'm alive? Come on, now; I've talked to your descendant, and he told me you were dead yourself, you fucking idiot—hey!" 

"Stop. Talking." Psii doesn't seem to care much about your surprised yelp at the sensation of his psionics clamping down around your arms and dragging you forward; he just pulls you back into the pile, shifting to make space and reaching out to drag his fingertips across your face. "Wait. No. Don't stop talking—fuck—are you—you _feel,_ you feel real, fucking _hell_..." 

"I'm fairly sure I'm real," you comment dryly, when he just trails off. "Did I do something to make you think otherwise?" 

"Showed up." Psii shrugs, power shedding off him (and into you; it tickles) with the small movement. His eyes pulse for a moment before dimming to a less worrisome level; he doesn't take his hands off you. "Fuck. You're here. You're here?" 

"I'm here." 

"And you're _real_." 

"Yes, Psii, I'm real." You shift slightly, then go still again when he tenses up and tries to pull you closer. "I'm not going anywhere, calm down." 

"You can say that shit, but you sure fucking tend to disappear when I let you go," he mumbles, leaning back a bit and letting his eyes close. "I guess if you're real, that's not a problem...you're sure this isn't a fucking hallucination? I'm going to be unspeakably pissed at you if I start the upswing and you disappear, Signless." 

"I mean, I can't promise you're not hallucinating, but you're not hallucinating _me_." You shrug and squirm into a more comfortable spot in the pile, wrapping one arm around Psii's shoulders and digging the phone that one of the Lalondes acquired for you out of your pocket with the other. "It seems I'm alive again, Psii." 

"Good." 

"Dis is here too. Disciple." 

He opens one eye at that news, a sliver of luminous red in the darkness of the room. " _Here_ , here?" 

"No. We have a hive." 

"Of course you do." He grins and leans against you again, shaking his head. "I can't fucking believe she let you leave for long enough to come see my sorry ass—" 

"Shush." What you deliver to the side of his head is less a pat, more a swat, and he whines and gives you a mild jolt of lightning in retaliation. "Next time she'll be in the pile with us too, you idiot. Sound good?" 

"Very good." Psii nods, relaxing and going quiet for a second. Then he asks the question that you think you may be about to hear a lot, over the next few hours. "You're sure you're real?" 

You nod, even though his eyes are still closed, finishing typing out your message to Dis about where you are and how long you intend to be here. "I promise you I am, Psii." 

He smiles and hums softly, and you have to smile too. Damn, but you missed him.


End file.
